Ingenious
by thatdrncat
Summary: Charlie returns home during Christmas holiday one guest short, and things take a change leaving Charlie to do something he's never done before... question himself. CharlieNeil
1. Chapter 1

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**'Ingenious'**

_Part 1_

Charlie Dalton was never a person to acknowledge the word of authority. He found that his somewhat Byronic personality was stifled continually, especially since his admittance into dear old Welton Academy, and any sort of nonconformity seemed appealing. Though Mr. Keating was enough to brighten up the dreary '_Excellence_' of his school day, there was nothing to do the same for the days he was to promptly return to the Dalton Estate in Connecticut. If there was ever a human on this earth who could strike fear into Charlie's heart without holding a paddle in their hand, it was most certainly Mrs. Lily Dalton- his darling mother. Gentile and lovely as Lily was, her son the spitting image, this banker's wife's hand was one of iron and gloved in velvet. This velvet was removed only around her husband, and her son, who had felt the sting of flesh across his face before. Sometimes for Charlie, it hurt worse than a paddle. But, for some reason, it was only when he refused to practice his clarinet. This was the woman who, after quite a few calls and one silently hostile meeting, convinced Headmaster Nolan to allow Charlie's return to Welton, providing he kept his nose clean. Charlie himself would have been more pleased to return to an iron maiden after miraculously escaping, but he did not dare to tell his mother this; Mrs. Dalton was not a lady to be trifled with.

When Charlie made his way up the aged bricks of the Estate's walkway, Charlie stared out over the landscape of grass and noticed the ancient and crooked tree silhouetted against the grey sky. It was the type of dreary day one can only understand if one has lived in or visited New England. The moisture from the oncoming rain could be felt around Charlie's neck, even with the thick wool muffler his grandmother had sent over from England last winter, and he shivered. Where was Neil? He was supposed to be with him for this week of holiday- they had planned it out at school. They stayed behind after a meeting- the mere thought of it hurt like a twisting fork in the chest- and it was arranged then. Neil would have come out to Connecticut, stayed for a week, and then Charlie would have gone back to Delaware to stay with Neil's family until school started up again. Though Neil's family was never an endearing prospect, Neil was the reason Charlie kept visiting, not because it was convenient travel-wise. He closed his eyes for a moment and continued up the path to the front door. The elegant white home stood ominously above him, and the black door was less of a welcome than it had been in years previous. There was no snow to greet him yet, which would always put Charlie in a sore mood around Christmas, but the quiet which surrounded him did the job.

The door creaked with utmost familiarity of his childhood as he stood on the threshold, as the affable face of the family butler made his way over to him in the usual bustling manner, "Welcome back, Mr. Dalton," he took his coat and bags, but Charlie kept his scarf on, "Thank you, Nigel. Do you know where my mother is?" Charlie didn't bother to ask where his father might be- it was well-known that he was unreachable during the weekdays. Sometimes he slept at the bank; Charlie's father was a man who refused to live off his parents money, and insisted on working for his living, though it was wholly unnecessary.

"She's in the drawing room, sir."

"Thank you," Charlie said again as Nigel walked up the stairs, "And the name is Nuand-" The words caught in his throat, and Nigel turned, "...Nevermind."

Mrs. Dalton lounged on a sofa as comfortably as she could in her restricting skirt, smoking a cigarette. Charlie ventured that, if he had been born a woman, he would be exactly like his mother.

"Charlie," she said elegantly, ruining his attempt to surprise her, "You've arrived." She moved to embrace her son, and he complied, only after noticing that it was somewhat awkward for her to stand there holding him as his hands lay, limp at his sides. For all her intimidating attributes, Mrs. Dalton was the only woman yet who could comfort her son, who wanted to collapse into her and weep, but couldn't. Charlie was numb inside, and Mrs. Dalton knew it.

"Your father will be coming home early tomorrow to see you, he's having a busy day today," she said gently, touching his face. Charlie attempted his usual pleased smirk, but it somehow didn't work, "I'm tired," He said, barely able to look at his mother without tears welling in his eyes, "I think I'll go and sleep until dinner."

"You go ahead, darling," Mrs. Dalton said, with the most understanding Charlie had ever seen in the woman. He nodded and left, climbing the spiral stairs to his room.

Never had Charlie slept above the covers, but once he hit the pillow, the exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks. The last thought he had before falling into near-unconsciousness was where his dog may have been.

_'You think it's really anything? I mean... does this usually happen?'_

_'Does it matter if it's really anything? It's like Keating says. _Carpe Diem_, right? If we feel something, we should go for it.'_

_'So what are we waiting for?'_

"_Carpe Diem_..." Charlie half-awoke and stared at his ceiling, framed by the four-poster bed. He had seen him again. He wished that he would get out of Charlie's head, out of Charlie's thoughts, and out of his dreams. Yet, it was the only piece he had left of him. If Charlie could sleep forever, just to be next to him, to feel his body heat, he would do it. Charlie would join him. Friend, lover, it didn't matter. Neil was the first person he had known at Welton, and also the first to be able to tolerate his attitude, which had been less suave and more obnoxious during Charlie's sophomore days. Was it love? There was definitely love between them, but there wasn't time to find out if it was at all brotherly and only lustful. Charlie dreamed of that night, and the nights after that. Each moment appeared in a dream. He turned on his stomach and fell back to sleep, slowly, inhaling the smell in his home that mixed with Neil's image burned in his head.

_The luggage room was dark, empty, and far away from everyone else. It was easy enough to sneak out to a Dead Poets meeting, as long as the Spaniel at the end of the hall was kept happy with a few dog treats. This was no big thing. Neil had never had a girlfriend, and Charlie was willing to share experience. The thought had never crossed the other's mind, until Meeks had said that he would try anything once, prompting Charlie to propose sex. That's when it stuck in Neil's head- he wouldn't say that he saw Charlie in a different light, but the idea seemed more and more inviting. _

_Charlie skipped the awkwardness of it, getting Neil close enough to his face to pull him in by the tie. In actuality, Charlie had never kissed another man before, and found that it wasn't so different than kissing a girl, and kept loyalty to his amazing ability to never falter at any hint of adversity. The hair was different, though, less rigid from hairspray, shorter, and easier to run fingers through without getting caught. After a few moments Neil pulled away and sat to the side, a horrified but stimulated look on his face. _

_'Do you want to continue,' Charlie had asked, 'Or should I just go to my room and finish myself off?' _

_Neil hadn't answered, he just sat there with a confused look on his face as he stared at Charlie._

_'Fine then,' Charlie said, standing and walking towards the door, 'You really shouldn't tease people like that, I may not be able to-'_

_Neil had risen and almost leapt across the room to Charlie, who was now surprised to be backed up against the finely carved door. His mouth being ravished by a tongue that was astonishingly more conditioned to this sort of position. Well, Charlie would be damned if he wasn't going to be dominant in this. He did his best to push Neil off, but Neil was larger than he was and bony, so this was harder than it seemed. Charlie was able to push Neil into the seat he had been sitting in, and expertly slipped the leather of his belt off. Neil had gasped in a terrifying manner at the first hint of contact, but soon relaxed as it continued. It was charming, Charlie thought. He himself was quite hot now, and expected a return of this favor, which he sure enough got. Halfway through Charlie has to fight the question that plagues his tongue; has Neil done this before, or does he just have some kind of preternatural ability to send Charlie into ecstasy? Charlie had cascaded into passion before, but nothing like this. Neil was a whole different ballpark... There was no fooling Neil, because he already knew how much of a bastard Charlie was, so there was no prelude of sweetness that Charlie would present with the ladies. It wasn't necessarily rough, but neither of them would be coming out of this unmarked_

_Even the buckle-marks the young mens' backs the next day were worth it. And while Meeks smirked all-knowingly and shaking his head, Todd shrunk away, Knox was somewhere else with his desired girl in mind, Pitts was looking confused, and Cameron was suspiciously looking on, Neil and Charlie blithely mentioned a small row between the two boys that was now resolved. Keating had turned away and pretended he wasn't listening. _

When Charlie awoke, the sun was gone from the sky, and Choxie was licking his face.

"Down, Choxie," Charlie said sleepily, sitting up, somewhat regretting his decision of an over-affectionate labrador, who left promptly with a wagging tail.

Charlie rubbed his eyes as if trying to rub Neil's image off of the insides. He would have given anything to remove the image, to forget his friend, just to stop the twisting fork in his chest.

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	2. Chapter 2

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_Part 2_

Though the house was decorated with every home furnishing money could buy to make it look like a cushy holiday layout inside his mother's _Vogue_, the Dalton Estate did nothing for Charlie this year as it did in the years previous. It seemed as though his mother had had an entire team of experts working on the place during the time of his sleep, as he could sleep through practically anything. The white walls and moldings were adorned with every type of pine, ornament, and light you could think of inside the red, green, gold, and white color scheme. The porcelain figures that his mother was so ridiculously proud of had been packed away, and new figures of Santa Clauses and Reindeers had been put in their place. Mistletoe hung in one of the doorways, and Charlie had no inclination to ask what it was about. But the one thing that slightly warmed Charlie's chilly outlook on life at this point was sitting blithely in the living room as if it had been waiting for him; the tree, of course. There it was, all decorated with the generic ornaments that had been bought, most likely, at Abercrombie, and every other ornament that had represented Charlie's Christmases since his birth. He hadn't chosen one yet, but Charlie was sure that Mrs. Dalton would soon remedy that. Aside from this, the only thing that was missing was the star on top of the tree. Despite the somewhat unconventional schedule of the Dalton family, it was ever so important to Charles James Dalton III (Charlie being IV, but never daring to tell his friends) that the family would gather around and place the 19th century star on the top of the tree. It was a wonderful tradition that even Charlie wouldn't want to scoff at.

"Charlie, m'boy!" Mr. Dalton called as he exited the dining room to embrace his son, who smiled and embraced back with effort. Charles Dalton III was a good-natured man with a kind face and body that had been conditioned by years of lacrosse, field hockey, and crew; three sports Charlie had never taken interest in. All that Charlie really received from his father genetically was his rebellious personality, but Charles never took it as far as Charlie had the previous year. While Lily had been angry with her son as she resolved the matter, Charles snickered and took time out of his schedule to see his son for a brief lunch. Under the guise of a fatherly lecture about the dangers of disobeying his elders, Charles lightly commended the boy but advised him to keep it under control lest someone be truly affected by his actions. This wasn't a problem, since the whole business spiraled out of control as soon as Neil...

In short, Charlie was going to keep his eyes down and not cause trouble on his last lifeline during his final year of Welton incarceration. He made this known to his father, who understood the death of a friend, but not the sort of friend Neil was to Charlie. This was not mentioned- though Mr. Dalton was open-minded, it was only up to a certain point. A true jock, Mr. Dalton didn't understand the power and effect that poetry had on the soul, and literature was wasted on him. Still, Charlie loved his father, and further wouldn't want to hurt him with the knowledge of his former liasons with Neil. Charlie thought that would be too much to handle, as he could barely handle it himself.

"How are you doing, Dad?" Charlie patted his father on the back and they separated.

"Doing well, doing well. Hey, you have to go get changed. We have dinner guests arriving soon!" He looked his son up and down, analyzing the crumpled Welton jacket along with Charlie's pants and shirt, which hadn't seen an iron since Claire, the family nanny, had pressed them before the start of the new term.

"Dinner guests?!" Charlie exclaimed, suddenly more bewildered than he was before his sleep. Still exhausted and depressed, Charlie wasn't anything like his normal rakish self, and could barley think about being charming to some ancient bankers or business associates of his father's that fell under some other category _as well as _their wives. The wives were the worst. Since Charlie had turned sixteen, every single wife of his father's business partners would make advances toward him, despite their crippling ages! Bored with their husbands, these wrinkled old women would see Charlie as one of the party favors that Mrs. Dalton had set out as entertainment. There was one memorable holiday party in which Neil had been visiting. Whenever one of the wives walked through the door, their response to their introduction to Neil would be a scandalizing gaze and a remark would pass through their over-colored lips that would be something along the lines of, "Ooh, another toy to play with!" This thought made Charlie's blood run cold. But whenever it happened, Neil and Charlie would laugh it off later in the night when everyone else was sleeping.

The worst thing was when the guests would bring their sons. The conventional sons of bankers, the boys that were Charlie's former playmates had grown into pimply, stiff daddies' boys, only relieving themselves if they had permission from their superiors. None of them went to Welton, but graced the table with stories from other preparatory schools such as the Groton School and Deerfield Academy. Sometimes it became so unbearable that Charlie would excuse himself early, complaining that roast was made in a way that 'displeased his bowels'. He would get a sound reprimand from his proper mother later for using such language in front of guests, but that couldn't be worse than hearing about the fascinating world of the National Honors Society or the Eagle Scout's fabulous camping trip in which Dexter Cunningham saved five girl scouts from drowning, being eaten by wolves, and dying from polio, all in the same afternoon. It was sickening. It angered Charlie the most when the stretchy old hags _along with_ their sons would start to go for Neil. He hadn't understood why this annoyed him so until the previous year, and now he cursed himself for lost time. What Charlie would have done to Neil inside the confines of his room... and the other way around.

Mr. Dalton had already left by the time Charlie had finished with his thoughts, and he returned to his room to change into something more presentable. It wasn't a black tie event, he wagered, or his mother would have been fussing about it when he had walked in the door that afternoon. His room looked much different when it was lit, and Charlie was able to appreciate the forgotten details now that he was more than semi-conscious. Charlie wouldn't have ruined the wall with a Welton banner, as many of the boys back at the school did, but adorned the wall with various posters of jazz bands and things of that sort. Though he thought himself a beatnik, Charlie was really _nothing_ of the kind. Not even the faded _On the Road _paperback that sat unread on his empty bookshelf could redeem him.

The image Charlie tried to portray was thin, but his attitude was not. As Charlie stared into the mirror, buttoning up his off-white Oxford shirt and pulling a sweater vest over it, he felt like a cat wearing the scales of a fish. He didn't belong there, but he knew he didn't belong in some underground poets' club, either. Although Charlie wished he could see himself sitting in some French café, clad in black and smoking a cigarette, inside it was painfully obvious that the real hip cats of the streets would see right through him. It was only this insecurity that had plagued Charlie until Neil died, then that opened up a new line of problems Charlie had never recognized in himself before. It was this realization which caused Charlie to conclude the fact that he would be entirely and utterly rude to every single old cougar who decided to hit on Charlie due to the fact that their husbands didn't touch them any more. Charlie was just happy that he hadn't lived in the court of Catherine the Great.

When the doorbell rang that evening, Charlie was tempted to saunter vainly down the stairs as the guests entered, being cruel enough to show the old ladies exactly what they weren't getting.

The voices rose through the hallways, a cluster of excited tones and an unexpected timbre that made Charlie turn his head around the landing of the stairs and gaze down upon something that caught him off his guard. The Abernathies, a family almost as old and rooted in Massachusett's history as the Daltons were in Connecticut's. But it wasn't the sight of this forgotten family acquaintance that thrilled him, it was the sight of the vision that came walking through the door behind Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy. Cornelia, the daughter of this wealthy pair of businesspeople, had far since grown since Charlie had seen her last. When he had first left for Welton at the age of ten, nine-year-old Cornelia had giggled as he cried to his mother about not wanting to leave home. At the time, Charlie desperately wanted to stay and become a soldier for the Continental Army, being quite the young historian, and Cornelia had been the British Captain that he had recently killed by way of throwing mud at her new white sun dress. Because of this rather unfortunate incident, Charlie had not only cried in front of the enemy, but was shocked and dismayed to find later that a mercenary frog had been secretly placed in his suitcase. The assassin proceeded to hop around his dorm room when the suitcase was opened, but terrified a young Meeks instead of its intended victim.

Visually, there was barely anything left of that devilish tomboy in the young woman that was currently removing her coat and scarf and entertaining the notions of Choxie, whose main intentions were to be pet. Now her dark hair, formerly filled with twigs and put into pigtails, was straightened and pushed back in a neat bob by a tartan headband. Her white cashmere cardigan was reminiscent of the sun dress, but her red and green plaid dress beneath it set the entire ensemble to a Christmasy tone. Her face had thinned out, and what had been flat and thin was now curved and attractive under the wool and cashmere.

The last Charlie had heard of Cornelia was that she had been sent to Kent Preparatory School in England, and Charlie had honestly forgotten that she had even existed. Apparently, Mrs. Dalton had recently met up with her old friend, Mrs. Abernathy, and found the holidays to be a perfect time to rekindle the ashes of their friendship. Charlie was never happier that his mother had the same exact social patterns of his own, and intentionally lost friends as she grew bored of them, only to contact them years (in Charlie's case, weeks) later.

Catching his mouth hanging open, Charlie walked down the stairs in more of a stumble than he would have liked. He was grateful that no one saw him trip besides Nigel, who gave him an amused look as he balanced himself alongside his father. Nobody knew that he had been inches away from falling on his face.

"Charlie, there you are!" his father clapped him on the back in a jocular way and said in his usual congenial tone, "You remember Henry and Donna Abernathy."

"Charlie, you've grown! You're almost as tall as your old man!" said Henry in astonishment, shaking Charlie's hand warmly and smiling his collegiate grin. He and Mr. Dalton had been on the same squash and crew team in Harvard, and Charlie assumed that he would be answering a lot of questions as to why Charlie himself was not involved in any sports.

"My goodness, Charlie, you look just like your mother!" Donna Abernathy, a bit more affectionate than Charlie would have preferred, pulled him into a light embrace and kissed him on the cheek as she had when he was a little boy.

"Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, it's very nice to see you again." Charlie replied, as polite as he allowed himself to sound, while still trying to sound manly and charming to impress the next guest his father introduced him to.

"And, of course, you remember Cornelia," At this, the young lady stood and looked up, and her expression briefly conveyed pleasant surprise when she saw Charlie, but then moved to a dainty smile. Charlie suddenly remembered that she used it whenever she needed to get out of trouble with her nanny.

_A perfect angel... _Charlie thought as she removed her glove and shook his hand, which was as cool as his mother's but softer, _We'll see about that._

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	3. Chapter 3

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_Part 3_

Dinner carried on with the same amount and caliber of etiquette that was expected within such a type of people. The Dalton house was what one would most likely call a W.A.S.P. nest, especially when company was over. W.A.S.P., of course, is an acronym standing for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, which was basically the entire racial demographic of Welton. The decorum, though formal, was somewhat relaxed due to the nature of the relationship between Mrs. Dalton and Mrs. Abernathy. As Charlie recalled, Mrs. Donna Abernathy, formerly Miss Donna McClellan, had graduated in the same class as Mrs. Dalton at Radcliffe College before she became Mrs. Abernathy four months later. From what Charlie could gather, Mrs. Abernathy had been pregnant at the time of her marriage. And by the way she was discreetly gulping down the white wine with her entrée salad, she was regretting that steamy and fateful night at the Lampoon building. This slightly cynical thought at his mother's guest's expense brought a wicked smirk to Charlie's face, which he quickly wiped off for fear of his own mother's wrath.

Much to his own chagrin, Charlie had, of course, been placed to sit across from Miss Cornelia. He had not cared to pay any attention whatsoever to the conversation that was taking place at the dinner table, and made use of his time trying to look unimpressed but still eager to take fervent glances at the lovely creature that sat across the table, who was demurely pretending to pay attention to everything that was going on. She ate her food in the continental style, Charlie noticed, no doubt taught by a stuffy etiquette teacher in England who had positively no idea of the American way to cut and eat one's vegetables. As Charlie well knew, these lessons on public behavior for a lady or gentlemen were created to make sure you appeared as congenial and as proper as possible, along with a shiny polish which covered any sort of social pimple that might have deemed you to be anything less than a lady or a gentleman. In his own lessons, Charlie learned to wear a mask that showed him to be nothing like he truly was, but an entirely different person altogether. He wondered if this was the case with Cornelia, and felt an unfounded jolt of worry when the thought crossed his mind that she might actually have been completely brainwashed and was nothing but a trained poodle in modest pink lipstick. With a more melancholy air, Charlie became even more depressed knowing that this would be almost as bad as an evening with a privileged son of his father's business associates, but with quite the better view. Lost in her own thought, Cornelia's eyes found their way over to Charlie, and then looked away quickly when she realized that he had been looking at her, too.

After a delicious and awkward dinner, awkward only for the two adolescents but delicious for everyone, the party took up the lounge. Having already sipped their after-meal coffees, the mothers had moved to their martinis and the men to their designated poisons. Charlie and Cornelia, of course, were not allowed. While the mothers smoked, Charlie was tortured by the horrible addiction he had developed through the past year to cigarettes, and he did his best not to show that fact that he had not had the opportunity for one today show in his nonplussed expression. As if things could not get any worse, it was the whim of Mrs. Abernathy to 'leave the kids to chat' with a terrible giggle for which Charlie could have strangled the woman. When this was suggested, Charlie and Cornelia both gave their mothers the quickest pleading looks, both to which the mothers replied with a raised eyebrow to accompany their stubbornly pursed red lips. As the parents left, Mr. Dalton gave his son a wink while Mr. Abernathy eyed him suspiciously before his wife gently pulled him out.

When the parents were safely on the other side of the house (Charlie was accustomed to the acoustics of his house, so he could tell exactly where his parents were), the two sat on either sides of the couch, both looking at their feet. Cornelia had her ankles locked together and her hands tightly clasped in her lap, and the silence in the room had made Charlie sit up in discomfort. They exchanged glances, unable to meet each other's eyes. Suddenly, Cornelia turned to her purse and began to dig around in it, finally producing a rumpled box of Camels.

"Here's what you've been itching for," she held them out to Charlie, who stared in delighted shock, "Right?"

She spoke now with a more relaxed, mischievous tone, and her lips were curled in a self-assured smirk, making her formerly innocent pink lipstick now seem downright inappropriate. _Now we're talking! _Charlie thought while thanking her and taking the extended cigarette, making sure to keep his cool and not display his obvious excitement at the face that this girl was not a total loss. In fact, the way she was looking at him now involuntarily made his pants grow a bit tighter than is custom for polite conversation. He skillfully hid this with a dignified but masculine crossing of the legs.

"Does your mother know about this?" Charlie coyly asked, taking out a lighter of his own and lighting his cigarette, then offering the flame to his guest.

"She should," Cornelia replied, bending forward to set her own cigarette aflame, "They're from her purse." She flashed her large, brown eyes up to Charlie, whose heart leaped a tiny bit at this sudden eye contact. She looked him straight in the eyes for one moment, and then looked away as she had a dozen times before. The only difference was that before, her retreats had been meek and bashful. Now, it were something entirely different altogether. She lounged on the arm of the couch, breaking her perfect posture in the absence of adults, and was poised in a position as if Charlie was not even there. She seemed to be thinking of something, and Charlie was content just to look at her. It was a minute or so before Cornelia saw it fit to break the silence, "So, what do you do for fun in New Haven?"

It was at this moment that Charlie remembered where Cornelia came from; Boston was a hip and happening town, and this girl had been living in England for the whole of her teenage life. It was common among boarding school students to develop two faces- one for their parents, and one for their friends. It was lucky to have a face when one was alone. Charlie took a drag off of the cigarette, thankful that the smoke smell from Mrs. Abernathy's cigarettes would blend with his and Cornelia's, and replied, "So far, all you do is sleep, read, and wish you were somewhere else."

Cornelia sighed and took her own drag, "And I'm here for a week."

Charlie was surprised to hear this, "A week?"

"Your mother didn't tell you?"

"No, she didn't." It was hard for Charlie to hide the disdain in his voice, resulting in Cornelia's raised eyebrows, as his mother was always doing things without telling him.

"You don't seem too excited." That smirk had crept onto her lips again, and Charlie had the sudden desire to grab her chin and remove all of the torturous color from her lips with his own. He stood to hold himself back, and then smiled in his own rakish way, "One could say that I am pleasantly surprised, Miss Cornelia."

He moved to the window and gazed out at the night sky, whose stars were covered beneath the sheet of clouds that had been haunting the heavens for days- without even so much as a snowflake. Charlie furrowed his brow as his back was turned to Cornelia. It was so strange- because of Neil, he thought that he only felt arousal to men, but with Cornelia...

"'_Miss_'?" she repeated, in a shocked but playful tone, "Just years ago, you were throwing mud on me and calling me a stupid girl." She lounged and crossed her legs, taking her small allowed amount of wine from the coffee table and holding it in her hand, not drinking, waiting for Charlie's eventual reply, "That was years ago," he said, sauntering back over to the couch, "Things have changed."

Cornelia took a last drag from her cigarette, "They certainly have." She looked Charlie up and down before squashing the smoking end on a crystal ashtray beside her mother's charred filters, whose ends were lined with red lipstick that got fainter with every butt. Cornelia stood and walked towards Charlie, getting closer than what was proper for a young lady. It was only now that Charlie's heart began to beat so fast that he had to swallow and calm himself. The memory that then occurred to him as Cornelia studied his face was that of the day before the first time he left Welton; the day of his first kiss with Cornelia. He wondered if she remembered.

"You really should sleep, Charlie." She said, finally looking away and turning her back on him, "If it keeps you up, I'm in the room next to yours." Charlie cringed, she was sleeping in the room he used to, and secretly still did, believe was haunted, "As I understand, our rooms are joined by a door. Just knock before you come in." The look on her face was coquettish, but her voice was so monotone that Charlie could not tell whether or not she was trying to be promiscuous or actually helpful. Either way, his gentlemanly streak was just about run out, "And what makes you think it's any of your business?" Charlie was congenial, but obviously not so enough as to not offend Cornelia.

"Well, then," She said, pouting her lips, "_Be_ miserable. See if it bothers me."

With that, she left the room to Charlie, who was glad to see that the little girl he once kissed in a childish experiment with cooties had not entirely lost her spunk, and any of such that had been lost was filled in with something that Charlie, in his teenage boy mentality, would find much, _much_ more pleasurable. He waited a moment, loosened his tie, and walked swiftly through the door to follow Cornelia up the stairs. The adults were all a bit more than tipsy, and would most likely find themselves in the garden the next day wondering _what_ the hell happened, if Charlie remembered his parents' friendly parties correctly from when he was a child, so there would be no disturbance. Cornelia had gotten ahead of him, and the door to her room was already shut. Charlie, of course, had gotten his way with many of the townies while at Welton, and had acquired much experience from those encounters. The difference here was the fact that Cornelia was devilish, exciting, unique in a world of women. She didn't even have to seduce Charlie, he was already interested. The dark hair, her strong but shaped eyebrows when she looked at him with those eyes... Charlie had gone into his room and was standing by the door to Cornelia's until a thought stopped his hand at the door, the thought of Neil. Charlie had been with him many times, and had always felt _something_, but it was only now that it occurred to him that he had never been attracted towards any other man. Todd had been a prospect, maybe, but nothing like his almost magnetic pull towards Neil. Was it that Cornelia reminded Charlie of him? He didn't know- he just didn't.

Charlie had to take a step back before entering the room, Keating's _CARPE DIEM! _burned into his memory. This is how he had decided to deal with his grief. What would this mean to Cornelia if they went through with it, or even to Charlie? He knew that he was in _no_ place to be in a meaningful relationship, and if Cornelia wanted that, she was just out of luck. Without another thought Charlie opened the door to find Cornelia, standing and waiting for him. They collapsed on her bed, kissing, to the unknowing viewer, in what could be seen as passion. But as they both knew, there was nothing in this but lust. Soon there were sweaters flying alongside khaki pants, both pairs of shoes forgotten already by the wall, and the neatly-made sheets of the bed soon occupied. Her skirt was the most difficult thing to get off, honestly, and Charlie thanked God for garter belts. As many girls of his had been demure and virginal, it was obvious that Cornelia had been getting into far more than her studies at Queenswood as she unbuttoned Charlie's shirt with one hand and pulled it off with the other after tossing the tie over his shoulder to make way. Charlie, who did not want to fumble with her buttons, had to stop himself from ripping the shirt apart as he used to with Neil. Soon, the temptation was too great and he did it anyway, eliciting a gasp from Cornelia, who pushed him back a bit and stared at her shirt, then at him with her arms out in a surprised and questioning way. Then, she looked up with a wolfish glare in her eyes and a leer that would entice Adonis. She tore his tie from his shoulder and pulled Charlie down on her, kissing him with familiar ferocity; Neil used to react the same way when Charlie tore or broke things. Granted, it had been a while since Charlie had ran his hair through such long hair, but this did not disturb the acts of the night.

_Neil had come in, entirely without warning, while Charlie was sleeping. Meeks was gone on holiday for March, and there had hardly been anyone around worth noting. Charlie hadn't known how long Neil had been there before he woke up, but he was a welcome sight when he opened his eyes. Neil, not content and personally bothered by watching someone sleep, had taken to reading that old Dead Poets book that Keating had given to him. He did get so excited about it. Before either of them knew it, Neil was up against the wall, cornered on Meeks' bed. _

_"Just can't keep away, can you?" Charlie asked, not as he would ever want Neil to. He slid his leg between Neil's and kissed his neck, not expecting a reply until Neil placed his head on Charlie's shoulder. When Neil did this, it was usually out of ecstasy due to the particularly sensitive skin on his neck, but when he began to feel the sleeve of his shirt getting wet, Charlie stopped. Neil, who had always been confident and smiling, was now covering his puffy, red eyes with the back of his hand, clenching his teeth, and Charlie knew exactly why. _

_"He just doesn't understand, Charlie..." His voice was choked, and Charlie could not give a reply except to take Neil in his arms and stroke his hair. That was all he could do when Neil was like this; his father was a stubborn and unfeeling man, never once thinking of Neil, but only of what he could never do and would see Neil do if it killed him. _

_Little did Mr. Perry know that it would not be him that would make this sacrifice. _

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**WiseD**- _Thank you so much for reviewing, I'm sorry this took so long after our correspondence. _


	4. Chapter 4

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_Part 4_

Charlie awoke with the harsh light of the mid-morning sun on his face, feeling no one in the bed beside him. It seemed that, within the course of the night, he had made it back to his own room, leaving Cornelia to herself. The way he remembered it, they had made good use of both rooms, but eventually Cornelia told Charlie to go back to his own. She said that she needed _some _sleep, as none at all would harm her skin irreparably. She had spoken these words with a familiar indignant tone that had reminded Charlie even further of Neil, making his retreat an unassumingly quick one. Granted, they had been a bit louder than should have been safe, and Charlie was sure that the parents must have heard _something_. Yet he predicted that all but Charlie's mother were sprawled out on sofas in the lounge, each of them not to wake for another good five hours to nothing but a splitting headache and Choxie barking to be let out. Charlie would have to take care of that, as it was the help's day off and he had to do everything himself while his parents slept off their rompings of the previous night, but he just could not give himself any cause besides that to get out his bed. He was frightened that Cornelia expected them to take a long walk on the grounds or have some kind of romantic but exceedingly awkward brunch. That's what most of the girls who didn't end up hating Charlie by the end of the night did, when they were trying to sink their hooks into him, and Charlie _knew _that his parents would approve of it and push him towards her. At Welton, at least he had the excuse that he had to get to school the next morning (really in two hours, or however long it was until class started the next day), but at home there was nowhere to hide! It was fine with Neil, as he had been just in the next room-

_Neil. _

A new wave of emotion came over Charlie that could be described never the more accurately than by guilt and recurring depression. It hung like a stone in his chest whenever Charlie pictured his face, and he knew that there would be one day when he would not be able to see it anymore. He turned over to put his back to the window, and in his half-sleeping state Charlie pulled open the night stand drawer to pull out a picture of himself and the rest of the Dead Poets Society. It had been taken nearly a year ago now, and it seemed as though it could have happened a week before. They all stood together- Meeks, Cameron, that dirty Irish bastard, Pitts, Todd, always to the left of Neil, Charlie to his right, Knox, and Keating standing there as the benevolent god that he had become in their eyes. It was haunting, looking at his face and the faces of those around him. Coming back to Welton, Charlie didn't speak much to Cameron anymore for obvious reasons, and the Dead Poets had fallen apart. Meeks, still his roommate, kept to his studies most of the time, obsessed with the prospect of the upcoming Yale entrance exam. He hadn't even made eye contact with Charlie once throughout the first semester. Knox never made himself available as he was always with his new girlfriend, and Pitts busied himself with the sports whose scholarships were getting him into Georgetown. The most upsetting, though, of these estrangements was that of the separation of Todd. Todd, who had been close, if not closer, to Neil than Charlie had been, and was outwardly taking it the hardest. As always, he held everything inside, and had become even more introverted than he had been when he arrived at Welton. Charlie had been the first one to tell him about Neil, and the result had been devastating. Never had Charlie heard such a cry of anguish as was emitted from this boy as he ran out into the snow, cursing the gods at such a tragedy. Charlie had felt the same way, but was too angry to express it, and could barely feel anything but the tears on his face and the torment in his heart. The Dead Poets Society would never be rebuilt, Nolan had made sure of that, and Charlie didn't know whether the absence of it or the rejoining of it would have hurt him more. Looking at Neil's face now, it seemed as if he had never existed, as if the whole Dead Poets Society with Keating and the year before included had never been real. Charlie could almost convince himself that it had never happened, and that Neil had actually come over to visit for Christmas break and was downstairs reading a book at ungodly hours instead of sleeping like he always did whenever he had slept over Charlie's house. But when he looked into the black and white photograph he realized that he could never again see the deep brown of Neil's eyes nor hear his warm laugh echo through the solemn halls from the recreation room and it _killed_ him inside! Charlie often dreamed that he had gone after Neil on that night, said one more goodbye to him before his bastard of a father ushered him into the car for the last time. He wished that he could have done something, been there to knock the revolver out of his hand before he-

_BAM!_

A shot from outside made Charlie jump out of his skin and he fell out of his bed. On the floor, he put the photograph back into the night stand and scrambled to the window to see what the hell was going on.

Cornelia was on the green that would have been green if there wasn't snow piled on it, holding a shotgun with Choxie prancing about merrily beside her.

"_What the bloody HELL are you doing?!_" Charlie screamed out the window as she fired a second shot. Cornelia looked around before finding Charlie in his window on the side of his massive house.

"_I found your father's skeet shooter!_" She called, tapping the machine, "_Get some clothes on and come down!_"

It was only now that Charlie noticed that he was entirely without garment, and shut the window as it was much too cold out for screaming out the window at nine o' clock in the morning. He pulled on a pair of corduroy pants and an old sweater, topped off with a pair of knitted socks and a scarf given to him by his grandmother that Neil had once made terrible fun of him for in freshman year. He looked for the hat that completed the ridiculous ensemble, but then realized that he had seen it atop Cornelia's head. The saucy wench had invaded his home, and she was already taking his things! The only thing that he could not tell her, though, was that it was actually his mother's skeet shooter.

It was far colder than Charlie could have imagined, and pulled on his coach as he marched through the snow. Choxie came bounding towards him, barking happily as if there hadn't been anything more exciting that had happened in her five years than what was going right now. Charlie's mood was slightly in contrast. Despite the nearly-freezing weather, Cornelia was barely wearing anything but a sweater and his hat along with pants and mittens, a old pair of Wellingtons adorned her feet.

"You're going to freeze to death," Charlie said, walking up behind her with Choxie at his heels.

"What?" Cornelia said nonchalantly, "England is colder than this in the spring! And New England winters could blow this little cold spot away." She revved up the skeet machine again and re-loaded the shotgun.

"I didn't know you were so rugged," Charlie said, picking up a clay pigeon as Cornelia shot another into the air.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," she replied within the echoes of the shot, "Like how I really don't want to start a meaningful relationship, if that's what you had in mind."

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and she turned, taking the shells out of the shotgun and putting it on her shoulder, "Agreed?" she asked, her eyes dark pits against her pale skin.

"And thensome." Charlie replied, "I was hoping to tell you first."

"Tell me what?"

"The same thing you just told me. Where are our parents?" Charlie said, quickly changing the subject so that there would be no awkward silence between them.

"They went to the country club early this morning. Drunk off their asses, of course." Charlie was surprised at her blunt language, but somehow expected it, "My mother has in her head that we're going to get married someday." Cornelia looked at Charlie, waiting for a response. He raised his head and looked at her, a shrug of the shoulders being his only reaction. She sighed and picked up the skeet shooter, walking toward the garden shed with the barrel shotgun resting on her shoulder. It probably wasn't the response she wanted, but she did not show any ill will towards him. Charlie had no idea what to say to that. Cornelia would have probably been a smart match for him, but _years_ from now, not right away. He was not ready for any sort of formality, and it seemed that such was the case for Cornelia.

"You said something strange last night," she said, as they later removed their outdoor clothes.

"And what was that?" Charlie asked, not fully remembering everything that went on that night.

"Well, at one point," Cornelia lit a cigarette and offered one to Charlie, who reached for it, "You screamed out, _Neil!_"

Charlie's hand stopped in midair and he froze. Squeezing his eyes shut, he silently cursed himself. He had thought that he had said something like that, but convinced himself that he had only imagined it, like a sort of memory relapse thing. But no, he had really said it. His- _their _secret was blown, not that it much mattered anymore.

"Neil... Neil was a friend of mine at school-" Charlie began, hesitantly, afraid of how Cornelia would react.

"I know. And he killed himself, right?" Cornelia said suddenly, "With a pistol?"

"How do you know that?!" Charlie half-asked, half-shouted.

"Your mother told my mother, and my mother told me." Cornelia replied, cool as a cucumber, "I only brought it up because you didn't seem to notice that you said it. He was a good friend of yours, yes?"

Charlie turned away, a mixture of sadness and anger at her nonchalance of the subject, "A very good friend," he murmured, barely audible.

"Alright, then." Cornelia said, with more sensitivity, "I won't pry into your life." She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder for only a fleeting moment. Charlie turned around and Cornelia had gone.

_Spring at Welton was nothing compared to its autumn. Autumn had a charming, rustic, old-American feel to it. And it was often so beautiful that Charlie could almost hate himself for calling it Hellton. A little more than a year ago was when it happened. It was a Sunday, which meant that students could do whatever they wanted. Of course Neil, with his restless spirit and eagerness to throw entire piles of dry leaves at every unsuspecting person who was available, could not bring himself to stay inside after finishing the new English teacher's homework. Keating sure could pile it on, but he was better than the last professor. _

_"Come on, guys!" he said, trying to rouse the hapless young men, who were slumped over the comfortable plaid furniture as if they were a part of it, "It's a beautiful afternoon!"_

_Meeks was tinkering with a radio with Knox looking on, Charlie had been staring at the ceiling, sitting in the chair by the lamp that he had claimed for his own, thinking about Playboy's most recent centerfold, having already finished his work, and Todd was tirelessly studying as if he did it to not be noticed at all. Pitts was somewhere else entirely, as was Cameron, who would have lectured them about doing something constructive with their time, anyway._

_"No, I'm busy with this." Meeks said, and Knox absentmindedly hummed in agreement. _

_"Oh, come on... Charlie, what about you?" He playfully threw a matching plaid pillow in Charlie's chest, "Don't tell me that you're busy."_

_"Aah," Charlie said, bemusedly stretching his arms and legs before saying, "Okay, I'll go." _

_"Great! What about you, Todd?" _

_Todd wheeled around as if something had startled him, which was his normal response to this sort of thing, "Uh, no. I had better finish this," He replied, shyly, "I'll catch up with you later."_

_Charlie did not know quite what to think of this new kid. Todd was terribly introverted, almost to the point where Charlie barely even knew that he was there. Neil liked him a lot, being his roommate and all Charlie supposed that he _had _to. And that was just Neil's nature; if there was someone new or perhaps even a bit shy, he would always try to get him involved with the group. He had already lured him out of their room that day to study in the common room of the dorm. Secretly, Charlie deplored people like this, but he thought that it would be fair to give this kid a shot. If Neil liked him, there must have been something there that was worth it. _

_The two boys left the dormitory and walked outside, Charlie adorned with his terrible scarf and Neil with one that was also homemade, but far more attractive with grey and red stripes rather than brown and orange. _

_Their walk was long and quiet. Charlie, for once, had nothing to say and was off in his own mind, and Neil was having far too much fun being outside to really carry on a conversation. He had asked Charlie to come along simply because he wanted someone with which to enjoy the day. Walking through the woods at Welton was, in itself, a stimulating activity, but one could easily get lost. They were deep in the woods now, and the sun was descending into the sky, but not quite yet setting. For a moment, Charlie stopped and looked up at the sky. It was the color of deep robin's egg blue that you only see in the fall when the sun is about to set. It's an impenetrable blue that makes one think that the world is enclosed in an opaque blue sphere, being kept like fishes in a bowl for some greater being's amusement. _

_In his musings, Charlie was suddenly hit with a pile of leaves that he really should have expected, "Wake up, Dalton!" _

_Charlie looked at Neil, his expression unchanged, and Neil's smile slowly left his face, "What's wrong?" He walked towards Charlie and lightly thumped him on the shoulder, "You're not yourself." _

_Charlie looked down and stepped towards Neil with his eyes to the ground, making Neil move steadily backward, "You remember when Meeks said that he would try anything once?"_

_"Yeah," Neil replied, a bit apprehensively "And you suggested that the two of you should have sex. What about it?" Without knowing it, he had been backed against a tree. Charlie stopped and looked straight into Neil's eyes._

_"Would _you _try anything once?" _

_Neil paused, then smirked, bringing Charlie into a kiss that should not have been as pleasurable as it was, and he thought for a moment that this was exactly why there should be girls at Welton, so this does not happen. _

_But the moment only lasted a few seconds. _

_As they headed back, Charlie took one last look at the sky. He did not know that, a year later, he would be staring at the same sky, the blue glass beyond which watched a million lost friends._

Days passed. Cornelia readied herself to return to Boston, and then back to England. After their encounter on the second day, Charlie and Cornelia didn't really talk again, or see each other on the Dalton Estate. They moved in different circles for the entire week, until she kissed him goodbye on the day she left. As she turned around in the sunlight that reflected off the snow, Charlie almost said, "Goodbye, Neil."

Charlie's return to Welton was nothing but just that, a return. He and Meeks hardly spoke, and he never saw the rest of the Dead Poets save for in class, where they barely exchanged glances before returning to their schoolwork. Halfway through the term, Todd dropped out due to a nervous breakdown. Charlie had seen him in the hall the day before, and could have sworn there was nothing wrong with him. Todd had the kind of face where you could not tell what was going on inside because he always looked so deep in thought, as if the world around him did not exist until someone tapped him on the shoulder. That would be the last time Charlie ever saw Todd.

The Class of Welton 1961 was a year that would slowly be forgotten by the school, but a class that would live on in the hearts of the young men forever. On the day of graduation, there was a large picture of Neil at the ceremony, commemorating this 'fine young man'. Charlie stood and looked at the picture, and soon every one of the Dead Poets that was still at the school made their way over and stood beside him. There was, then, a perfect moment of silence. A class photo was taken, beside it a school photograph of Neil from 1959, and the two were framed and set in the glass cases in front of which a teacher once told his students, '_Carpe Diem_'. On that summer afternoon before leaving 'Hellton' forever, Charlie looked over the green grass and saw a Welton uniformed figure standing on the edge of the woods. At first, Charlie did not know if it was actually a person, as the setting sun was glaring in his eyes. Charlie lifted his hand to shield it and gazed at the estranged person until. He stood there for a minute, and then he was gone. Charlie closed his eyes and felt a wound in him that would never truly heal.

"Goodbye, Neil." Charlie finally said aloud. Then he turned away, and left.

As for the remaining members of the Dead Poets Society, they never again came together. Charlie never saw Meeks, Pitts, Cameron, or Todd again. The Dead Poets made some success for themselves in the real world, at least for a fleeting time. One could argue that it been the Dead Poets Society itself that had pushed them to reach so far. Knox married right after graduation, and still lives only a mile away from Welton. Knox was really the only Dead Poet Charlie ever made contact with again after graduation, as Knox's son inducted Charlie's firstborn into Welton as a senior.

"I would have never expected you to bring a kid here," Knox had said, after shaking Charlie's hand.

"Well, I couldn't break the tradition of the Daltons at Welton." Charlie replied with a smirk that merely echoed those of his past.

"Did you ever tell him about-" Knox began to ask.

"No," Charlie answered, with far less humor than he had in his younger years. Though, Knox understood and did not mention it again. As Charlie came to understand, Knox was living in Neil's house. After Mr. and Mrs. Perry moved to a place unknown, he pounced on the purchase before batting an eyelash. His reasoning was that there was something wrong with anyone living in the house who did not know its history. Knox always kept the door to the study locked, with the key in his pocket so that the children would not be tempted. Knox did this because he could never go into the room and see the stain on the floor that the real estate agency had been too careless or unable to clean off. Though the room was always empty, there was a rug over the small spot. Meeks went on to MIT and ended up being the owner of one of the most prominent cellphone companies alive today. He retired at the age of 45. Pitts was a college sports star, and Charlie did not hear anything about him beyond that. Cameron, in a morbidly justifying twist of fate, was to follow in Neil's footsteps. With his complete lack of people skills and an unfortunate affair with Lady Luck, Cameron's multi-million dollar business, which the weasel had created through stepping on everyone that helped him to do so, went bankrupt. With nothing left to live for, he too turned a pistol on himself. Todd, on the other hand, became a writer, and is now well-known in most literary circles. Unfortunately, he fell into the category of alcoholic writers, and could never really control it.

Charlie read about the Dead Poets in the papers, but despite his high banking position never ended up with one of their accounts. Reading through these stories about people he had once known, but didn't know anymore, Charlie thought about Mr. Keating, and whether or not he was sitting on the other end of a newspaper somewhere, chuckling to himself about the boys he taught. Charlie would have never thought that he would see Keating again. Though on one of his excursions in Cambridge during his second semester at Harvard, he saw Keating walking in the Yard, who was reading none other than Walt Whitman. Keating noticed him staring and, after a moment, he waved to Charlie, who returned the wave and kept on going. Secretly, he hoped that Keating would be teaching one of his classes, even if it was business. It was funny; Charlie always knew that Neil's parents wanted him here, and he always expected him to come bounding down the stairs of the Widener Memorial Library and wave him over to another 'amazing piece of art' he found in the Peabody while he was supposed to be in Anatomy 101. But he never did.

Charlie inherited his father's business and worked his way through his thirties, barely once picking up a piece of literature. Before that, he had gone to New York City for a year after graduating from Welton, trying his absolute best to become the hipcat beatnik that he always wanted to become. But his vision was now blurred, nothing seemed as exciting as running out into the old Indian cave at night. Even the amphetamines at parties in Andy Warhol's Factory did nothing for him, and Charlie soon left the Big Apple and all of his disillusionments behind All that he got from it was one lousy picture, squished between Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick, a wobbly Jim Morrison in the background. Charlie inherited his father's business and worked his way through his thirties, barely once picking up a piece of literature. And he and Cornelia _did _end up marrying, but when both were at the age of 35, and after Cornelia's mother had already died. They now live in New Haven at the Dalton Estate, and their grandson is about to be the next generation of the Dalton legacy at Welton.

But before he went, he just had to ask Grandad what some writing in an old book meant, and also inquired as to exactly was the Dead Poets Society.

- F I N -

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**WiseD**- _How's that?_


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